Page 56 of Tell Me Why
For fuck’s sake.
“Dude, don’t worry about it,” I say, blowing it off. “I’ll handle Sara.”
Lucas rakes a hand through his hair and down his face. “Listen, dude. This shit with Eve has to stop. It’s too much.”
Now,thatgets my back up.
“Too much?” I take a step toward my brother, eyes narrowing. “Are you seriously questioning my judgment?Youof all fucking people?”
Do I have to remind him of all the crazy shit he did when he was spiraling over Wyn? How he fucking killed someone and nearly volunteered for state-sponsored suicide?
He must realize how fucking dumb it is to lecture me, because the anger drains from his face. “Listen, I’m just worried about you, dude.” He leans against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “I saw the look on your face when Eve first arrived, and if I’m being honest, I had a feeling this would happen…”
What the fuck?
I take another threatening step toward my brother. “You had a feelingwhatwould happen?”
Jackson must have stood up at some point, because he steps between Lucas and me. “Whoa, chill. We don’t need another bloodbath tonight,” he says, hand on my chest. “There’s been a lot of tension in the house since Eve arrived. That’s all he’s saying.”
I shake my head, rocking back on my heels. The guys have no idea what I have planned for Eve, so I’ll give them that. And from the outside, it must look like I’m losing my mind—and sometimes, it feels like I am. But I know what I’m doing. And what I’m doing isfor them.
“Fuck, whatever,” I say. “You guys don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then make us fucking understand,” Lucas says, pushing off the desk. “Because it looks like you’re spiraling into addiction, dude.”
Goddamn.Some things just never change. Lucas beat me into the world by two minutes, and ever since, he’s been playing the “big brother knows best” routine. Same shit, different day.
“Thanks, man,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my tone. “I appreciate you pulling out of Wyn’s cunt long enough to come over here and offer me that brotherly perspective.”
Lucas flinches, like he’s going to lunge at me, but Jackson is larger than both of us, and with a hand on each of our chests, he manages to keep us apart. “Both of you calm the fuck down,” Jackson bites out. “We have enough shit to deal with without you two ripping each other’s throats out.”
Fair point. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t craving the violence. Something about feeling knuckles crack against bone scratches an itch, nothing else seems to reach. And I love my brother—hell, he’s probably the only person on this fucked-up planet I’d take a shiv to the kidney for—but his holier than thou attitude makes me want to knock out a few of his teeth, just to remind him I can.
Clearly frustrated, Lucas pushes back, hands up. “You know what, I’m tired and I don’t have time for this bullshit.” He moves toward the door, turning around to lob one last threat. “Just…for fuck’s sake, Christian, get your shit together. Seriously.”
When he’s gone, both Jackson and Ash look relieved that our conversation didn’t get bloody.
“Damn, that was intense,” Ash says, speaking for the first time since I arrived.
I blow out a heavy breath, waving off Ash’s comment. “He’s just pissed because he had to actually get off his ass and do something other than lie in bed with Wyn all day.”
Jackson folds his arms over his chest and shrugs. “He’s just worried about you, man.”
“Cool,” I say dismissively, pinching the bridge of my nose. I’m suddenly exhausted. Dropping my hand, I look up at the guys. “Your text said you have information on Eve. Is that true or was it just bullshit to get me here?”
Jackson flicks his chin at Ash, who plucks a large manila envelope off the desk and tosses it at me. There’s a hastily scribbled note on the front—Happy reading. C.V.
Charlie Vaughn is one of several private investigators the Burning Crown employs, and he’s a fucking bloodhound. He operates on whiskey and bitterness, but his reputation is legendary: if there’s information out there on someone, Charlie will drag the rotting corpse of truth into the light, no matter how deep it’s buried.
“We should really talk to Vaughn about going digital,” Ash says, watching me pull the thick pile of papers out of the envelope.
“We’ve tried,” I say. “He refuses. Computers can be hacked. Digital files can be subpoenaed. But paper can be burned.” I hold up the report that was created on a typewriter so old it should be donated to the Smithsonian. “He’s so paranoid, he insists we delete all emails and texts immediately.”
Ash shakes his head. “That’s some 1920’s spy shit, but sure.”
Ash’s skepticism bleeds through his tone. He doesn’t get it. Jackson, Roman, Lucas, and I were all born into the Burning Crown—we’ve lived and breathed this life since the moment we came screaming into the world. Ash only took up the mantle of a Sacred Son a few months ago, so he doesn’t realize measures like the ones Vaughn is taking are necessary. When you have power, wealth, and influence, other people want it, and they’ll do whatever they can to get it.
Like Sin Savano.
